Chapter Text
There’s someone following Robby.
He’s got the day off, and so like every middle-aged American man with a midlife crisis has decided to celebrate the sunny October day by going riding. His Triumph is one of the top 3 purchases he’s made in the past decade, along with a barbecue for his porch and a good tent.
“Not to alarm you, but someone’s been following us for the past ten miles,” Duke told him when they got back to his house just outside the city limits. “Still holding on to your Anti Gun stance? Because if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll happily-“
“No, thank you,” Robby had replied, wondering vaguely if Jack voted Red in the last election. “Whoever it is probably wants to have a word with me, not you, so I’ll just take this as a sign to get out of your hair. I’ll call you next week.”
“Sure, if you haven’t gotten murdered by then.” Duke had looked worried all the way until Robby had ridden off, which had felt rich coming from someone who’d been to actual prison.
Now, instead of going home, Robby drives to the nearest gas station. He fuels up, buys a chocolate bar just in case Jack asks about it, and is not surprised when he steps outside again and sees someone waiting by his bike.
He is surprised, however, when he doesn’t recognise the guy.
At this point, Robby has met a fair number of the people who work for Jack. There are more, obviously there are more, but somehow, he doesn’t think this is one of them. None of Jack’s guys have ever smiled like this, for instance. None of them have looked him up and down like they’re judging him and finding him wanting.
“So,” the guy drawls. “You’re the doctor.”
“One of them,” Robby agrees.
“You’re older than I expected. Then again, I suppose Jackie’s always been a freak.”
There’s something about the familiar way this man said Jackie, about the shape of the nose and the line of the brows that makes Robbie think- “Brother?” he guesses, even though this man has got to be at least fifteen years younger than Jack.
“Cousin. Lucky me, I guess, or else Jackie would’ve shot me, too. Three brothers enter a warehouse, only one comes out. Funny, that. I’m Will – I assume I haven’t come up in the pillow talk.”
Ignoring the implication, Robby crosses his arms and says, “So what can I do for you, Will?”
“Me? Oh, nothing. I just wanted to get a look at you. See what all the fuss is about.” Will looks him up and down again, then shakes his head. Unlike Jack, who Robby remembers used to be ginger when they first met, his hair is dark. “Not much, clearly. He’ll get bored of you soon enough.”
“Are you done?” Robby asks coldly.
Will’s smile isn’t like Jack’s smile, either. It looks fake, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to school his face into a friendly expression yet. “Sure. Hey, when you see Jack, can you give him something for me?”
His spit hits Robby in the cheek before sliding slowly down into his beard. Will nods at him and wanders off while Robby stands there, frozen, for several minutes, until his hands finally stop shaking enough for him to get on his bike.
He should drive home, have a beer, and pass out on his couch with the TV still on. It’s how he’s dealt with every other crisis in his life so far.
But he remembers Jack saying, I won’t make you choose anymore, and suddenly, for the first time in years, he finds he doesn’t really want to be alone right now.
So because Robby still doesn’t have Jack’s fucking number, he doesn’t go home. He goes to the PTMC, endures multiple people from the day shift stopping to stare at him and tell him that he’s off today like he needs the reminder, and he walks straight into Ahmad’s office where he finds Ahmad and Crus talking about sports, and he says, “I want to talk to Jack.”
To his credit, Crus stands up immediately. “Let me make a call.”
Twenty minutes later, he is, once again, in a car.
“-not normally a driver,” the guy Crus introduced to him as Shen is saying while he runs over a red light, “but, you know, all the actual drivers are busy right now, and Crus said this was kind of urgent. Hey, do you want to stop by KFC? Dr. Robinavitch? Okay, guessing that’s a no. I don’t even really like their food, but sometimes I just get a craving – okay, lady, stop honking, that was not on me. Anyway, you know, I started med school, too, but then I just realised my true passion- oops, gotta take this.”
Robby stares out the car window, quietly fighting off a panic attack, listening to Shen answer his phone.
“Hi, boss, what’s- yeah, I’m with him now, he- okay. Cool. Cool. Okay, see you then. Change of plans, doctor. The boss is taking care of something, so I’ve got orders to take you to his home. You ever been there? No? It’s pretty sweet, it’s got a giant pool that-“
“Could we just stop talking for a bit?”
Shen glances over at where Robby is slumped in the passenger seat. “Sure, no problem. But hey, I know you vetoed KFC, but you don’t mind if we just stop by Starbucks, do you? It’s no Tim Hortons, but I’ve gotten kind of addicted to their Banana Bread Latte from their fall menu, have you tried it? Man, you’ve gotta. I’ll bring you one.”
Shen pulls into a parking lot and disappears, a spring in his step that Robby assumes is gonna leave by the time he turns 40. With the car being blissfully silent at last, he ought to relax, but instead, his heart just starts hammering harder. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears as he remembers, once again, Jack’s cousin spitting on him.
“Here you go.” Weird: Robby could swear Shen’s only been gone a minute, but he’s back already, handing him an iced latte that’s got a strange yellow colour. “Seriously, have a sip. It’s lifechanging.”
Without the energy left to argue, Robby takes one sip, then another. It does, indeed, taste astonishingly like banana bread.
Perhaps it’s that surprise, or the sugar, or maybe it’s that Shen has resumed his cheerful monologue while he drives them through Squirrel Hill, but with each sip, Robby feels more tethered to his body. By the time Shen stops in front of a mansion that’s big enough to make Robby uncomfortable just looking at it, yet still, somehow, smaller than expected, Robby almost feels like himself again.
“The boss doesn’t really like us being here,” Shen explains, unlocking the front door by pressing his thumb to a small electronic panel, “but I’m going to stay with you until he gets home. Want to watch TV?”
“Okay,” Robby says, the first thing he’s said since he told Crus he wanted to see Jack.
“Cool,” Shen says. “Any preferences? Because if not, I’m in season four of my Dexter rewatch. It’s no problem if you haven’t seen it, it’s one of those shows you can just jump into at any point.”
Robby has not, in fact, seen Dexter. It takes him about three minutes to realise Shen’s claim is not true, but it doesn’t matter – it’s not like he’s got something better to do.
Just as Shen inhales sharply when onscreen, a blonde woman’s body is discovered in a bathtub, the door to the living room opens.
“John.”
“Oh, hey,” Shen says and stands. “We’re watching- yup, leaving now. See you, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Robby,” Robby corrects, but Shen is already gone, and Jack is here instead, kneeling next to the armchair Robby is sitting in and taking his face in his hands. He looks more dishevelled than Robby has ever seen him, his hair tousled, a smudge of blood on his cheek. His hands smell like gunpowder.
“Robby,” he says frantically, “are you okay?”
Robby gives him a weak smile. “Getting there.” Now that Jack has actually shown up, he’s starting to feel a little silly – after all, nothing happened. Not really. “Sorry. Crus should’ve told me to mind my own business.”
“He did exactly what he was supposed to do,” Jack argues. “He didn’t tell me what happened, though. Just said you looked spooked.”
“Oh, God.” Robby groans. “I wasn’t spooked. Just- a little unsettled.”
“Sure,” Jack agrees easily. “So why were you a little unsettled, brother?”
Robby takes a deep breath. “I met your cousin.”
“What?”
Because there’s something dark and dangerous in Jack’s eyes now, Robby quickly adds, “He didn’t do anything. Just wanted to see who I am, I guess. Mess with my head. Schoolyard bully stuff. It’s no big deal.”
“You wouldn’t have told Crus to call me if that were true.” Jack shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll take care of it.”
Something in Robby’s gut twists, hearing Jack say it that casually, like it’s that easy. I’ll take care of it. Just because Robby has asked.
His breath hitches before he can swallow it down. All the anxiety that’s been held at bay by Shen’s iced latte and the Dexter rewatch returns at once, irrationally, pointlessly. Jack’s just said he’ll take care of it. What more does his stupid body want?
“Hey. Robby. Look at me.” Jack lightly taps Robby’s bearded cheek with a finger. He has, somehow, managed to land on the exact spot where Will’s spit landed earlier. “You did the right thing, man. You did good.”
“I did?”
“So good,” Jack promises. “And now you’re going to let me take over, and I’ll handle it, and until it’s been sorted, I’m going to post one of my guys outside your flat, just to be sure.”
“Woah,” Robby says. The warmth that’s been spreading through him while Jack was talking evaporates and gives way to alarm. “You’re not assigning me a bodyguard.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t need one, that’s why not.”
Jack opens his mouth, no doubt to present Robby with an insane argument on why he does, in fact, need a bodyguard after he’s gone 53 years of his life without one, but before he can do any of that, he winces.
Robby, long trained in detecting signs of pain, immediately asks, “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You just winced. Is it because you’ve been kneeling too long? Should you be kneeling on that leg at all?”
“My leg?” Jack asks, his tone neutral in a way that suggests an emotion that’s very much not neutral bubbling just underneath the surface.
Abruptly, Robby’s patience snaps. “Your right leg. Was it a below-knee amputation?”
Silence. Jack blinks, once, twice. “Yes. I was told kneeling isn’t an issue.”
“Not usually, if you don’t overdo it. Padding helps. Regular check-ups help, to make sure the prosthesis still fits right. What definitely helps is not dropping down heavily on your hardwood floor when there’s literally a couch right here,” Robby says dryly.
Jack runs a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “The couch was too far away. How would I have made sure that you’re okay?”
“Next time, try asking. Come on, I’ll help you up.” Robby stands and grabs Jack’s forearm, and as he pulls Jack upwards, there’s another wince. This time, Robby is paying attention, and he realises at once that whatever this is, it’s got nothing to do with Jack’s leg. “Okay. Shirt off.”
“What?” Jack asks. He’s blushing a little.
Robby’s hands hover over Jack’s collar, his confidence faltering in the face of what’s got to be a suit so expensive he feels wrong even breathing on it. Even the fucking tie looks pricy. “Get undressed,” he says instead. “I want to take a look at your side.”
“It’s nothing,” Jack insists, even as he takes off the tie and hangs it over the armchair. He shrugs out of the jacket next. By the time he gets to unbuttoning his shirt, Robby’s face is hot, and he has to look away to stop feeling like a pervert.
‘Nothing’ turns out to be a slash wound, covered in plaster that’s already bled through. Robby peels it off softly, carefully, even though it’s already clear that this is not the body of a man who needs gentle handling.
When they were in their 20s, Jack had been fit then, too, but the contrast to Robby hadn’t been as stark. Now, Jack’s muscles are hard, his stomach flat, while Robby is uncomfortably aware of his extra padding, evidence of too many nights of frozen pizza and beer.
“This needs stitches,” he tells Jack quietly. “Who do I need to call for this?”
“No one. Medical supplies are in the bathroom on the second floor, third door to the right. I can-“
“Nope. You sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Second floor, third door to the right, it turns out, implies a simplicity that is not present in the actual layout of Jack’s house. It takes Robby a while to even find the stairs – a sign for how out of he’d been when Shen had led him to the living room earlier –, and upstairs, he’s distracted by the giant family portrait that hangs in the hall.
This is the Jack he first met thirty years ago: young, ginger, no silver in his hair yet. He’s flanked by two other men, a little older, a little less handsome, but undeniably similar. If Will was telling the truth, both of them are dead now.
Robby shakes off the thought of that and resumes his search for the bathroom, which this time around proves successful. Back downstairs, he cleans and disinfects the wound before stitching it up, aware of Jack’s intent eyes on him all throughout.
“All done,” he says at last.
“Any advice?”
“Stop getting stabbed.”
Jack laughs. “Thanks, man.”
Robby gives him a thumbs up, doing a bad job of hiding his smile. He tries to cover it by handing Jack his discarded shirt, which is when his gaze falls on a small tattoo on Jack’s ribcage that he’s only just noticed.
“What’s that?”
“The family crest.” Jack sounds embarrassed. “I got that a long time ago. Harder to get rid of than a ring.”
“Does Will have one?” Just saying the name out loud tastes foul on his tongue.
“Nah. Main family branch only. I should’ve gotten someone to cover it up, but I never got around to it. You ever got inked?”
“Oh, yeah,” Robby says, glad to have an excuse to stop thinking about Jack’s cousin.
Apparently, Jack wasn’t expecting this, because he straightens up so fast Robby worries he’s in danger of tearing his stitches. “Really? Where? Can I see?”
“On my arms, and nope, because I’d have to take my hoodie off for that, and I don’t think either of us wants that.”
“Why not?” Jack demands.
Another blush creeps up Robby’s neck. This would be easier if Jack wasn’t still shirtless. “Come on, man.”
“Robby.” There’s something weird about how Jack says his name. Something intimate. “Why not?”
“I’m almost 54.”
“So what? So am I.”
“Yeah, but you’re-“ Robby gestures vaguely at Jack’s torso.
“I’m what?”
“Hot,” Robby hears himself blurting out.
That, at least, gets Jack to shut up. Robby would feel better about this discovery if he wasn’t so mortified. Jesus. He’s not going home. He’s just gonna throw himself straight in front of a train.
Jack, meanwhile, appears to have gotten over his shock. His eyes have lit up, and he looks, in that moment, exactly like he did thirty years ago when he’d just won a game of pool. “You think I’m hot?”
“Okay, time to call it a night.” Robby doesn’t make it two steps before Jack, who really should not be moving this swiftly with his stitches, catches up to him and grabs his wrist.
“Because I wasn’t sure,” Jack says urgently. “If you still thought so.”
Jack’s word choice freezes Robby on the spot. He suddenly feels very cold. “Wait a minute. You remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Jack’s smile is rueful. “Kind of hard to forget you, brother.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Same reason you didn’t say anything, I’d imagine,” Jack deadpans. “It’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure you recognised me.”
“Oh.” Robby swallows.
“And then,” Jack continues, “you brought up my ring, so I knew you knew who I am, but, you know, there’s a big difference between remembering a one-night-stand and still being into said one-night-stand thirty years down the line.”
The lump in Robby’s throat grows bigger. It’s funny: he didn’t think he could feel any worse about himself, but Jack’s managed it in just a few words. He’s worried he’s going to throw up. “Right,” he says, “yeah, no, I get that. I guess I look pretty different to the guy you met in that bar.”
“Robby-“
“I didn’t mean to overstep – I mean, obviously I wasn’t actually expecting you to still be into all this, but, look, I’m sorry if I came across like a creep and made you-“
“Robby.”
“-uncomfortable in any-”
“Robby,” Jack snaps. “Shut up.”
Robby shuts up. He’s run out of steam anyway.
Jack’s hand is still on his wrist; now, he brings it up to Robby’s cheek again, like he’d done a few minutes ago when he’d checked if Robby was okay. His touch is feather-light, and Robby can’t help but soak it up.
“When I told you that there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, did you think I was lying to you? Did you think that’s something I would lie to you about?”
“No.” Robby wets his lips, his mouth dry. “But I also know that ‘nothing wrong’ isn’t the same as ‘attractive’.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you again, then, and you’re going to listen, so you can’t claim later that you misunderstood. Robby, when you walked into my office a few weeks ago, you were so hot I would’ve fucked you right then and there, if I’d thought you’d let me. If you’d given me the slightest inclination that you’d be interested. And no, you don’t look like you’re 24 anymore, but so what? Neither do I. I don’t give a fuck, man.” There isn’t a single trace of dishonesty in Jack’s voice that Robby can detect. “So please, for the love of God, will you take off your fucking hoodie and let me see your tattoos?”
Slowly, mutely, Robby drops the hoodie on the floor. Then, when Jack does nothing except watch him with dark, intent eyes, he takes a gamble and pulls his t-shirt off, too, letting Jack see all of him, every imperfection he’s gathered over the past thirty years.
Jack is on him in a split second. He doesn’t bother with Robby’s wrist anymore; instead, he just pulls him in by the waist and kisses him, hard, on the mouth. “You’re trying to kill me,” he mutters, “I just know it. This was all a ploy.”
“Stop moving, you need to give the sniper a clear shot,” Robby replies, and winces when Jack bites his lip in retaliation. He’d almost forgotten this – three decades on, he mostly remembers the shock of how good sex with men was, but now that Jack is kissing his way down Robby’s neck, more details return to him. Jack had been gentle, careful, but he’d also been funny, even while buried literally balls deep in Robby’s ass, and that easy laughter during sex is something Robby hasn’t really experienced since then.
“Good news,” Jack murmurs, “I’ve got lube this time. Bad news, it’s all the way upstairs, and I’ve just gotten stitches. I’m worried what my doctor is going to say.”
Robby laughs, and suddenly, it’s incomprehensible why he’d ever let Jack go, why he hadn’t tried to track him down the second he woke to an empty bed. “I’ll write you a note.”
*
Last time, Robby had woken to the realisation that he was probably gay.
This time around, he startles awake with another realisation entirely. He shoves roughly at Jack’s shoulder until Jack stirs, blinking bleary eyes at him and promptly burying his face in the pillow again. Not on Robby’s watch.
Robby pulls the cover away, shoves Jack again and says, “Did you pay off my debt?”
“Jesus,” Jack mutters. “What is your fucking problem, man? What time is it?”
“See, I always wondered about that,” Robby says. On the nightstand, the clock reads 6:07. He’s got 53 minutes to get to work, which should be more than enough to fit in this argument first. “The bank wouldn’t tell me anything. But I just kept thinking, who would do that? Who would have enough money to do that?”
Jack groans. “It’s too early for this. What happened to coffee? A man shouldn’t be forced to make conversation in the morning without coffee.”
“I’ll make you coffee as soon as you tell me why you did it,” Robby says mercilessly. “You didn’t even know me.”
“I did know you.” At last, Jack sits up, managing to look incredibly put out by the action. “Robby, I did know you. And even if I didn’t, who cares? You were cute and I liked you and I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“You could’ve asked me out, then. This is- I don’t even know. It’s fucking deranged.”
“Two weeks before we hooked up, my dad had one of our employees shot for getting caught with a guy, so that kind of soured my mood on the whole gay dating idea.”
“Didn’t seem to sour your mood on gay sex, though,” Robby points out.
“Fine,” Jack says irritably, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, and in a perfect world, I would’ve asked you on a date instead of sneaking out.”
Robby shakes his head, incredulous. “What? I don’t give a shit about that. I just want to know what on earth made you spend tens of thousands of dollars on a random guy you picked up in a bar.”
“I told you.” Jack’s expression softens. “You needed the money, you were talking about debts, and then you made this joke about starting to sell your body, and I knew it was a joke, but I just kept thinking – you’ve got this problem, and all you need to solve it is money. I had money. I solved it. That’s all.”
That’s all. Like it’s that simple. Jack said it with the same conviction he’d told Robby yesterday, I’ll take care of it.
He supposes, in a way, Jack paying off his debt, as insane as it is, is also kind of in-character. Jack’s done similar things since Robby walked into his office.
“You need to promise me something, brother.”
“Anything,” Jack says immediately, without the slightest bit of hesitation. Like he really is ready to just give Robby whatever he asks for.
Robby brushes his thumb gently over the smear of freckles on Jack’s cheekbone. “When you get bored of me, you have to tell me. I don’t want you to force yourself, and I don’t want you to just disappear, either. You tell me first, then you leave. Okay?”
“Does that promise go both ways?” Jack brings up his hand and lays it on top of Robby’s, squeezing.
Robby’s spent many decades feeling suffocated by his relationships almost as soon as they’d started. Somehow, with Jack, he’s kind of thinking that he wouldn’t mind a bit of friendly suffocation, if it kept Jack by his side.
Still, he nods. “If you want.”
“Alright. Then I promise.” Jack’s eyes are suddenly brimming with mirth. “Do I get to request something now, too?”
“It depends,” Robby answers carefully.
“Will you please, for the love of God, just let me assign you a fucking bodyguard?”
Robby laughs. “You already got the hospital to up the security. If that’s not enough to keep me safe, I don’t know what is.”
*
Robby is used to good things happening sparingly and followed by long periods of catastrophically bad things. This time around, though, his encounter with Jack’s cousin seems to have led to a series of good things that shows no signs of stopping.
One of these good things is the fact that he and Jack finally managed to exchange phone numbers, which means he doesn’t have to bother Crus anymore when he wants to talk to Jack. They’ve started texting, not a lot, but enough that Santos comments on it.
“Is it someone who works here?”
“Who?” Robby asks distractedly, his gaze sliding from his phone to the giant stack of paperwork Princess just handed him that he’s not sure yet what to do with.
“That person whose texts you’re smiling at like you’re twelve. Come on, boss, the people want to know.”
“Well, you can tell the people to stop gossiping about my private life and focus on their patients.” Robby gives up trying to understand the paperwork without his reading glasses and hands it back to Princess, who stares at it like she’s never seen it before. “I’ll look at this as soon as I get the time, but for now, can you please put this somewhere where it’s not in danger of getting blood on it? Like my office?”
Princess frowns and, presumably because Perlah called in sick, says something in Tagalog to Santos, who snorts.
“I’m not loving this,” Robby tells them, and postpones his bathroom break when he sees Whitaker waving at him.
Another good thing is that, in addition to the texts, Jack has started showing up at his place when he gets home, cooking. It’s nice. Weirdly domestic, but nice, or maybe it’s nice because of how domestic it is. Robby isn’t sure anymore. His entire idea of relationships has been turned upside down over night.
What does it say about him that the most stable relationship he’s had in his entire life is with a mob boss who, by all accounts, slaughtered his entire core family in cold blood? Robby isn’t sure about that, either.
But does it even matter? His grandmother used to tell him he should do what makes him happy. Granted, she’d said that more in the context of choosing between pre-law and pre-med, but she’s also been dead for over thirty years now, so it’s not like Robby can get any current advice.
“Would she have liked me?” Jack asks him one night, apropos of nothing. They’ve finished dinner and are now just sitting on the couch, watching the Pens get obliterated. Fucking embarrassing. “Your grandmother.”
Robby almost spits out his beer. “God, no.”
“What? Why not? I’m excellent with old ladies.”
“She’d have thought you were trouble,” Robby says. “She would’ve been very polite to you, and the minute you were out the door, she would have tried to set me up with one of her friends’ granddaughters.”
“Because I’m a man?”
“Because you’re in the mob, and because you’re not Jewish,” Robby says dryly. Then he takes another sip of beer, contemplating this, and adds, “Maybe because of the man thing, too. I don’t know. She passed before I got a chance to have my big gay coming out.”
Jack sets down his glass. He suddenly looks very pleased with himself. “Because you didn’t know you were into guys until I came along, right?”
“I can’t believe I told you that.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve been told my cock is like a revelation. It’s practically a miracle.”
“I think your cock is going to have to perform miracles by itself for a while if you keep talking.”
Within a heartbeat, Jack is straddling Robby’s lap, grinning down at him. “What kind of miracle would Dr. Robinavitch like? I’ll see what I can do.”
So, yeah – things have been good.
That is why, when Robby steps out into the ambulance bay one day during his shift, not to smoke, just to catch his breath after he’s just watched a thirteen-year-old die, he’s not even surprised by the pain that suddenly explodes across the back of his head. His stroke of good luck has run out at last.
The last thing he thinks before succumbing to unconsciousness is that he’s in the exact same spot Adamson died in.
*
Robby wakes up in pain, which isn’t unusual, and tied to a chair in what looks to be an empty warehouse, which is. Christ. Of all the ways he thought he’d go out, this one wasn’t on the list.
“Michael Robinavitch.” Robby recognises Will’s voice even before he enters his line of sight. He looks pale, but excited. “What is that, Russian?”
“Yup. Hey, if you’re that interested, you should check out DuoLingo. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
Will smiles and backhands Robby. His ring catches on Robby’s lip, drawing blood. “Funny. You weren’t funny last time I met you.”
“I’m trying to up my kidnapper-satisfaction-score,” Robby says. He’s not surprised when Will hits him again.
“Unfortunately, I don’t need you to be funny. I don’t really need you to be anything – except bait. Gag him.”
From behind him, rough hands shove a piece of fabric into his mouth and fasten it around his head.
“I had my men look you up,” Will says conversationally. “Did you know your old boss actually used to work for my family?” Robby’s shock must show in his eyes, because Will smiles again, pleased. “That’s right. My uncle hired him years ago, before I was even born. I’m guessing that’s why he was killed – tying up loose ends. Hey, do you think Jackie was the one who gave the order? When he gets here, we can ask him.”
No, Robby thinks. No.
Will kneels down in front of him, bringing them to eye-level. His eyes are the exact same shade of hazel as Jack’s. “Are you upset now? Angry? Tough luck. That’s what you get for falling in with the Abbots. Just ask Jackie’s wife. She’d have warned you not to get close to us – and that was even before Jackie showed his true colours. This isn’t the warehouse he slaughtered our family in, obviously. That one burned to the ground. Still, I thought it’d be a nice little callback.”
Robby is barely listening. His mind is on Adamson, bleeding to death.
Perhaps Will, like Robby with his med students, can tell when people are zoning out, because he backhands Robby again, hard, before continuing. “He probably didn’t expect me to make any trouble. ‘Side branch.’ Fucking bullshit. Alec, his big brother, never set us apart like that. To him, we were all just family. Jackie clearly didn’t see it that way. He can’t fathom why I would avenge someone who wasn’t even my brother.”
For two years, Robby has been thinking about Adamson’s death. The police had never been able to find the shooter. Because there were no traces? Or because they were paid off?
“One thing I haven’t decided yet,” Will drawls. “Shoot him point-black the second he comes in, like he shot my cousins? Or make him suffer? I know – maybe I’ll shoot you first. Then again, he hasn’t shown up yet, so clearly you’re not a top-priority. If I shoot you and he doesn’t give a fuck, that ruins the fun. Oh, well. I’ll think of something. I’ll be back. You there – keep watching him.”
Will walks out of Robby’s line of sight. For a few seconds, there’s the sound of receding footsteps, and then a door slams somewhere. Robby is alone again with his thoughts.
No, not alone. The guard is still standing behind him, silent. Unmoving.
Unmoving, until suddenly, he does move, putting a hand on Robby’s shoulder. Robby tenses, trying to push down the fear prickling up his spine. The hand moves down, down, down, and finally, it cuts away the rope.
Robby whirls around, taking out the gag in one swift motion. The guy standing there is utterly unfamiliar. Robby’s always had a good memory for faces, and he’d bet anything that he’s never seen this man before in his life.
But there is something there. The shape of the nose, the line of the brows. The eyes.
“You saved Mateo’s life,” the man says quietly. “I’m Diego. Mateo’s my cousin.”
Robby barks out a laugh. For someone who’s only ever known two blood relatives, all these family ties are bewildering. “Won’t your boss be pissed off that you’ve just let me walk out of here?”
“He won’t be if you beat me with this.” Diego holds out a pistol. “Just strike me with that a couple of times, as hard as you can, then get out of here. Keep the gun.”
Robby drags his gaze away from the pistol and up into Diego’s eyes. Diego can’t be older than twenty-five. He tries to imagine using this gun to hurt him, even without firing it, and instead, his mind conjures up the image of Adamson, bleeding out from a bullet wound.
“I can’t do it.” Robby gently pushes Diego’s hand away, then lets his arm drop as though he’s been burned. “Sorry. I wish I could, but- I’m sorry.”
His jaw set in a determined line, though there’s a flicker of fear in his gaze now, Diego says, “Then just go. I’ll figure it out. And – Dr. Robinavitch?”
“It’s Dr. Robby.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s true, you know, what he said. If Jack was that worried about tying up loose ends, he’d have killed Will, too.”
Robby draws in a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”
So, he walks out. It’s that easy. He walks through one door, down a narrow hallway, through another door, and is outside. It’s dark; Robby realises he has no idea how much time has passed. Doesn’t really matter, does it?
There’s no one around, so he just walks down the street for a while until he manages to flag down a taxi. His phone is gone, but he’s still got his wallet, and when he makes it home, he just hands over two fifties and gets out, ignoring the driver’s stunned look.
Inside the flat, he just sinks down to the floor, all the energy that’s kept him going until this point suddenly gone. He can’t even make it to the couch. He’s just – done. He curls up right there, in his hallway, and falls asleep.
*
The next time, he wakes up, once again, in his bed. This strikes him as odd, until he realises that Jack is lying next to him, on his side, watching him.
Robby flinches back. “Jesus. Warn a guy.”
There is, he now notices, a speckle of blood on Jack’s forehead. Jack looks unamused. “You didn’t call.”
“Lost my phone,” Robby says warily, even though ‘lost’ probably means, your psycho cousin dumped it in the river.
It’s like Jack didn’t hear him. “I walked into that warehouse, and you weren’t there, and then you didn’t answer your phone, and you didn’t answer your door, and when I broke in, I found you lying on the floor. I thought you were dead.”
Robby rubs his face. “In my defence, I had one hell of a day.”
“I heard. I don’t want to turn this into an I told you so, but I did repeatedly try to assign you a bodyguard.”
“Sure sounds like an I told you so.”
“Robby.” Jack takes Robby’s cheeks in his hands, a half-crazed look in his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you yesterday. For hours, no one knew where you were, no one had seen you, and it wasn’t until Will sent that message that we realised what had happened. And then, when I got there, you weren’t there. I was worried about you.”
“Oh,” Robby says, taken aback. “Sorry.”
“’Sorry’, he says. What am I going to do with you, brother? Do I need to handcuff myself to you?”
Robby lifts a hand to Jack’s forehead, tracing the tiny smudge of blood there. “What happened here?”
“It’s not mine.”
“Not what I asked.”
Jack smiles grimly. “I promised you I’d take care of it. I always keep my promises.” Then he frowns. “You should eat something. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Your cousin said something,” Robby says, catching Jack’s wrist to stop him from bolting. Jack obediently sinks back against the pillows. “About Adamson – my old boss. My mentor, I guess. Two years ago, just a few months before his retirement, he was shot. They never found out who did it. Will said you were responsible.”
For a moment, Jack is silent. But he doesn’t look guilty – just like he’s thinking. That’s something, Robby supposes.
“Adamson,” Jack repeats eventually. “That name is a little familiar, but I’m not sure. If he was killed, it wasn’t on my orders. But- I’ll look into it. See what I can find out. If Will was right, and it was someone who worked for me, I’ll know.”
“Okay.” His heartbeat slows down a little, but somehow he still feels like he’s run a marathon, and according to his alarm clock it isn’t even 9.
Wait.
“Shit,” Robby says. “I’ve got to call work, let them know I’ll be late.”
“I already called them. You’ve got three days off.” Once again, Jack looks very pleased with himself.
Robby probably ought to be relieved, but mostly, he’s suspicious. “Only three?”
“Obviously, I wanted you to take off the whole week, but I figured three was about all you could manage before you’d sneak out and go into work anyway.”
“My hero,” Robby says, and he’s only half-joking.
“Alright.” Jack sits up again and starts massaging his stump before attaching the prosthetic leg that’s leaning against the nightstand. “Pancake time.”
“Jack?”
“What’s up?”
Robby swallows. “About that job offer. You know I turned that down, right?”
“Even though I’d offer you better pay, better hours and better benefits, yeah. Why? You change your mind?”
“Nope. Just- I’m not working for you. I’m not going to work for you. Not now, not in a year.”
“Sure,” Jack says easily. “I figured.”
“So…” There’s really no ideal way to say this. Robby makes a gesture that encompasses both of them. “So, we’re still good? Like- this is still happening?”
Jack pecks him on the lips, just briefly, before saying, “I’d implant a tracker in your skin if I thought you’d let me, brother.”
It is, somehow, the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him. Robby figures that’s probably good enough.